


Free Fall

by lets_get_messi



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Definitely more fluffy than sexy, Dele is a bit of a shit, Denial is not just a river in Egypt Eric, Dream Sex, Eric is having a crisis, FIFA World Cup 2018, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Flirting masked as banter, Fluff, I shade Tripps’ hair a bit, Love, M/M, but this pairing is just too cute, mature for language and some sexual imagery, sorry because the concept defo eludes to sex, sorry boo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lets_get_messi/pseuds/lets_get_messi
Summary: When Dele Alli finds out Eric Dier has had a sex dream, he spends weeks trying to discover who it was about. Of course, Eric would rather die than admit it was about Dele.





	Free Fall

Eric was always a safe person. He always double-checked that his doors were locked before going to bed, he always took his headphones out during flight information on a plane, he changed his passwords every 6 months _just in case_. He found comfort in stability and safety, often shied away from recklessness and felt better off by doing so. Everything in his life was structured with a Safe and sound precision that he was actually quite proud of. His mother had always said it was an admirable trait to have. She’d place a kiss to his forehead in his youth and smile down at him, telling him that he was very grown up for his age.  That he knew what he wanted from life.

And he always had done.

Which is why he felt rather like he was plummeting through air without a parachute upon first meeting Dele Alli.

Dele had arrived one day out the blue and rubbed Eric up the wrong way almost instantly. He seemed confident and loud, where Eric much preferred calm and quiet. He was playful and excitable where Eric was subdued and tense. He was rather like a hurricane on a beach, out-of-place and most certainly centre of attention. Eric found the thing that infuriated him the most was that Dele managed to have all eyes on him for even the little things from the very start. Whether it was a “cool” drinking game he’d show off on a night out or him arriving late to training the next morning with sunglasses on despite it being overcast.

Eric remembered the first time he noticed Dele’s _I’m-not-hungover-so-shut-up_ entrance, his feet were dragging, clothes rumpled, and hair mussed. Eric had watched him pass from his position on the bench, lacing up his boots though his eyes couldn’t help but track Dele’s ostentatiously expensive sliders as he shuffled by. Sonny had laughed as he threw an arm around Dele’s frame calling to the other lads not to expect any conversation from Dele until at least 11am, and that he wasn’t a morning person.

Eric rather enjoyed the morning. He liked the serene calm of a sunrise. He liked to take his dogs out in the early mornings, sitting down on the decking of his back garden with a cup of warm tea in his favourite mug and a few moments of complete peace in an otherwise busy life. It was those moments he treasured, the moments where he didn’t have to think about anything, just sit in the wake of the city taking it’s first steps as sunlight broke out from the horizon and set the sky in hues of gold and yellow.

Dele’s quiet moments didn’t tend to last too long though. Eric learned much too soon just how talkative he was when he was alert and not hungover. It became almost like a routine designed specifically with pissing Eric off in mind. Eric would roll his eyes, removing his headphones with a pointed glower that didn’t seem to faze Dele, who’d just carry on his story, talking with his hands and laughing along to his own recounts clearly unable to pick up on Eric’s bristling and annoyance.

In many ways Dele reminded Eric of his Labradors. He was excitable, just about everyone’s best friend and seemed to eat way more than his slim frame eluded to. MnMs seemed to be a favourite of his, emptying near enough a full pack into his mouth in one go, winking at Dier who would fake a smile, letting it drop before he’d even turned away.

“You’ll get used to him.” Hugo had said one day in training, with a patronising pat on the back that Eric tried his hardest not shrug off as he watched Dele across the pitch surrounded by some of the lads, with a scowl and an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Dele was like a beacon. A popular, effortlessly cool beacon that attracted the masses as he stood in the soft glow of the mid-morning sun, teaching Kane an overly elaborate and unfunny handshake.

_You’ll get used to him_. Hugo’s words teased the edges of his thoughts as he sat on one of the practice balls, listening to the laughter from the other lad’s that caught on the breeze and flew to him. Thing is, Eric had had to get used to a million Dele Alli’s in his relatively short career thus far and judging from experience none of those meetings had ever resulted in Eric getting used to them. He didn’t take to people who demanded attention, people who attracted it. It just wasn’t very- well… it wasn’t very _Eric_ and Eric didn’t surround himself with people he didn’t like.

Who weren’t like him or who didn’t understand him.

It really was that simple. He was rather like a grumpy old man in that respect. He would often half-joke to people that if he lived alone with just a couple of dogs for the rest of his life, he’d die a happy man. So, he found that Dele Alli would just be another player he’d play alongside, would celebrate with when their team scored before the two would go back to their lives away from the pitch until their career paths would eventually bring their time together to a close and they’d take separate paths in life without much resistance.

They were two players to make up a team of many, and that was that. None of the talking about their weekends bullshit, none of the texting bullshit and certainly none of the friendly stupid handshake bullshit.

He’d be civil for civils’ sake, because it was a requirement of the job, to be part of a team.

And that’s where the feeling of jumping out a plane without a parachute came into play, his life taking a spiralling dive into unsolicited chaos when at some point down the line Eric found himself laughing along to Dele’s stories, often joining in with a dry remark that would set the pair off into hysterics that their other teammates would insist they didn’t understand. He’d catch himself greeting the younger man with the practiced fast-paced hand-movements from their personalised handshake. Then there would be the moments where Dele would beep his horn outside Eric’s house before training, the two slow and lethargic with sunglasses covering their eyes and Eric bringing two flasks of coffee for the ride to the grounds and a promise on his tongue to never drink again.

It became evidently clear with increasing obviousness that Eric had no say whatsoever in the blossoming of their friendship, or the magnetic pull that came from nowhere and locked them together over nightly phone calls and random day trips out together.

A lot of people joked about how different they were, and Eric couldn’t agree more and yet there they were, meeting in the middle of the personality spectrum and settling in to one another’s life with more ease than anyone could have expected.

It hurt Eric’s head to think about, so he tended not to bother thinking about the ins and outs, much too aware that he’d fallen out of knowing the sort of person he was and what he expected from his life so what was the point in questioning?

Until.

Well.

He supposed he could put it down to tiredness, Clay had been a bastard and refused to eat his dog food and Eric had spent an absurd number of hours googling different techniques to help fussy Labs actually eat their damn dinner the night before. Maybe he had just been frustrated because of on-going intense training schedules and the foreboding World Cup campaign that was looming over the horizon with the tug of expectation threatening to weigh him down.

Whatever it was it ended with a rather humiliating dream that resulted in Eric waking up with a frown on his face and a sticky patch in his underwear that made him feel 16 again.

He blinked into the darkness of his room, eyes adjusting to the pull of the street light outside stretching pale orange across the ceiling through the gaps in the haphazardly drawn curtains beside the bed casting his belongings into long drawn out shadows.

Eric wasn’t the type to remember his dreams, insisted that he didn’t have them most nights and yet his mind had no problem replaying the visions of spidery fingers pressing bruises into his pale thighs, Dele’s dark chuckle thick with a teasing edge as his teeth nipped at Eric’s lobe, the blonde arching into the heat of the man laid over him like a second skin. A flash of a hot tongue licking a playful stripe down his jaw as an agile body slinked down between his thighs, Dele’s familiar smirk playing on his face as his mouth lowered until it was inches from Eric’s -

Eric sat up slowly in his bed, biting his bottom lip and wondering why the fuck his dick had twitched at the mere memory of the dream and why the fuck he was dreaming about Dele fucking Alli like that in the first place!

He threw the covers off himself and was immediately blushing as he looked down to the wet patch in his boxer shorts. Fucking hell, dreaming about his mate was bad enough but having a wet dream was in an entirely other realm of cringey and stupid. He heaved a martyred sigh, taking himself to the bathroom and ignoring the grumble of a whine from Cisco who shifted on the edge of his bed, curling back into Clay as the en-suite light startled the room with its intrusive fluorescent light.

He turned on the shower, eyes struggling to stay open under the strain of the brightness, but he deserved to be in pain after that stunt. Come on, Dele fucking Alli? The same guy who ate Sugar puffs out the box until his fingers were sticky and then he’d attempt to wipe his hands on Eric despite his evident mortification? The same guy who would leave tea bags on the side of the kitchen counter despite Eric having a specific fucking tray for that! The same damn guy who would hold up two pairs of practically identical jeans and then ask Eric his opinion on which horrendous mesh of rips and studs was more fashionable?

Eric pushed his boxers down, grimacing at the sticky patch over his crotch and kicking the underwear towards the door with a blush and an irritated sigh.

Eric gasped when the cold water covered him, setting his skin alight as he shut his eyes willing his dick to just hurry up and shrivel already. Except whenever he shut his eyes he couldn’t stop seeing the image his mind had conjured up, the contrast of Dele’s skin against his own, skilled hands scratching over his chest and causing his nipples to harden and his moan to tumble from his mouth in a breathless stutter.  He slammed his hands out on the wet tiles, head hanging as the water pelted between his shoulder blades. He let his mind concentrate on the cold water, his body red raw and shaking and after fifteen torturous minutes his dick finally abandoned hope of round 2.

He reached for a towel, shutting off the shower and wrapping it around himself and then he was faced with his reflection. Did he even know who he was anymore?

“Traitor.” He muttered at himself, moving back into his room and wondering how the fuck he was going to go back to sleep now.

~*~

The dream was stupid, he knew that. It meant nothing, he knew that too. Hell, it was probably funny if he thought about it! It’s just it didn’t particularly feel funny, it kind of felt the opposite of funny. Whenever he tried to pass it off as humour in his head it would just wind up feeling hauntingly cringe-inducing and it was with that thought that the dream itself seemed to follow him around like a little black cloud which intensified to full blown thunder storms whenever he’d see Dele fucking Alli.

Dele, who knew nothing of the dilemma would bound over to him, jumping on his back and laughing into his ear, causing goose bumps to burst across Eric’s skin as he tried to steady the nerves that crept up on him from the epicentre of storm Dele.

He supposed that was the reason hurricanes were named after people.

He needed to say something, anything that would ease his wild thoughts and remind him that wet dreams were normal and not _that_ embarrassing and he probably only dreamt about Dele in the first place because they spent so much time together? Google had told him that dreams basically replicated what information the brain had previously processed. Hanging out with Dele during the day and watching Porn alone at night was his reasoning and he was hellbent on sticking to it. But curiosity killed the cat and seemed to have Eric as its next victim.

So, he swallowed down the doubt one day at breakfast, letting the chatter of the other lads around them sooth his nerves as he sat with Dele on a table beside the floor to ceiling windows. It was a bright morning, sunlight flooding into the canteen and bathing it in a comfortable warmth.

“You ever had a sex dream Del?” Eric asked feigning nonchalance as he tried and failed to chase a piece of pineapple around in his bowl with his spoon. When he eventually caught it, he let his eyes drift up to Dele who still had his phone in his hand, only now his brow was furrowed, and his thumbs had paused mid-air. Dele’s eyes narrowed at the blonde and Eric immediately felt stupid all over again.

Confidence was bad. Never be confident again Eric.

“Yes, Eric. I _a 22-year-old male_ , have had a sex dream.” He said in that annoyingly sarcastic tone that seemed to be reserved especially for Eric who just rolled his eyes, shovelling pineapple chunks into his mouth and feeling his cheeks flare under the watchful gaze of his friend that remained as the silence stretched on between them, stifling the air Eric desperately needed to carry on living.

“Why?” Dele asked, exaggeratedly drawing out the final letter as he locked his phone, placing it to one side and picking up his orange juice as Eric shrugged.

_Because I had a dream about you being all over me and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since._

“Just asking.” He opted for with a blasé shrug. The following silence was pregnant with… something that Eric didn’t want to think about. Soon enough the silence shattered, Dele scooping up Eric’s breakfast bowl with reflexes reserved for Cats and annoying best friends. Eric just sat back in his chair, sighing dramatically as the younger man fixed him with a playful grin. If Eric’s stomach swooped at the sight of it, it was probably because he was hungry and really wanted his breakfast back.

“Yeah but why?” Dele asked through a teasing laugh as Eric made an attempt at swatting for his bowl just to have Dele lean further back on his chair, pineapple held just out of reach.

“Can’t a man just ask a simple question?”

“About sex dreams? No! Unless-“ Dele’s brows knitted, cogs in his head shedding of their cobwebs as they shuddered to start and just as they groaned and clanked to life, brown eyes went wide and Dele’s smile seemed reminiscent of the Cheshire cat himself. “Eric Jeremy Edgar Dier, have you had a naughty dream?”

“No!” Eric snapped, grabbing his bowl with a forceful stretch and pulling it toward himself. To Dele’s credit he let him have it, choosing instead to lean forwards on his elbows with that same bullshit smirk that Eric wanted to slap from his face. God, had Eric ever blushed so hard before?

“You fuckin’ have you filthy filthy boy!” Dele seemed to notice his change in colour if his fingers pinching at Dier’s cheeks were anything to go by. Eric just let it happen, learning a long time ago that Dele seemed to do whatever he wanted, and it lead to an easy life to accept and overcome. “Come on, spill. Who was it about?”

“Fuck off Dell.” He tutted, staring at his fruit, appetite definitely gone.

“Was it about Katy Perry, nah she’s gone mental these days. Way too wild for you! You need a milder woman. A woman who can give you what you want but is firmly in control.” Dele rambled, and Eric just watched with a vacant expression and a string of expletives whirling around his head ready to jump out at his friend any moment.

“Let me think, Zendaya? Margot Robbie? That Harley Quinn outfit though! Again, they’re much too wild for you. You’re boring you see, you need a bland woman. Like a 5 out of 10.” Dele said sitting back again and scrunching up his face in thought as he took a long gulp from his juice.

“Seriously Dell forget I even said anything.” Eric warned turning to his friend whose hand shot up in fake surrender, mouth still in an annoyingly twisted smirk that made Eric want to either flip the table and run or just launch himself at his friend until his smile was gone. Somewhere amidst that thought his mind was circling around the idea of licking the annoying bead of orange juice away that was clinging to the corner of Dele’s lip.

“Don’t be embarrassed Eric, many grown men have sexy dreams. I’m just surprised it’s taken you so long to have one. Late bloomer, are we?”

“It’s not my first sex dream, dickhead.”

“But it’s the first sex dream that’s got to you?” Dele asked, leaning forward a little more and Eric hated how he seemed to be holding his breath for some reason as he stared at the younger man in front of him.

“Can we leave it please, forget I even asked.” Eric said, rising from his seat and collecting his half-empty bowl and glass to take over to the kitchen staff. He was so very big and brave for just abandoning the conversation, Dele must have known he was serious because he didn’t follow and didn’t speak to Eric even when they went back to the locker room.

~*~

Of course, Dele not saying anything didn’t last too long.

“Is it someone we know?” Dele said by means of a greeting one evening. Eric rolled his eyes, growling out his frustration as he climbed into the car, buckling up and instantly slouching in the passenger seat. Dele reversed from Eric’s drive taking them off towards the restaurant in east London that they’d made reservations at. It was Dele’s turn to pick where they ate at their monthly best-friend dinner (Dele’s choice of words, definitely not Eric’s because he wasn’t fifteen or a girl). The whole idea had been Dele’s in the first place and at first Eric found it was rather cute. He’d never had a best friend before and them carving out a specific day every month to take one another to dinner, well it was just nice. They tended to get a bit drunk, laughing and joking, talking about upcoming matches or matches they’d already played, just away from the stress of it all.

Eric hated how his stomach flipped as they drove on, the dream well and truly fucking with all aspects of Dele if their by-monthly friend date made him feel like a teenager going to prom.

Dele hadn’t given up trying to guess who Eric was dreaming of, annoyingly and predictably enough. He said that he was so intrigued because Eric seemed so closed off about his sex life, to the point where he was practically virginal, so Dele was using it as an excuse to be completely prying and endlessly irritating.

Eric had had sex, many times in his life. But just because he didn’t talk about girls in the shower with the other guys or join in whenever they’d make remarks about pretty celebrities that caught their eye, meant he was abnormal.

Apparently.

“Ok you got me, it’s Mrs Alli.” Eric said simply, watching the scenery pass them by and laughing despite himself as Dele sent a blind hand to swat at his chest.

“You couldn’t handle an older woman. I’m surprised you can even handle a wank, you mild bastard.” Dele mused, eyes on the road just to flick down to the radio as he fiddled with the buttons. Eric watched the movement, just to distract himself from the same conversation it felt like they’d been having all week.

One Week. One whole week since _dreamgate_ and Eric was beginning to think that his brain was automatically tuned in to Dele’s frequency ever since. Everything Dele did caught his attention. Whether it was Dele humming along to his playlist as he lifted weights across the room, or if it was him chuckling to himself as he thumbed through Instagram on the bus ride back from an away game. So, it probably shouldn’t have surprised Eric so much when he found himself drawn to the man’s hands as they sat together in the car that smelt like Dele’s cologne.

The same hands that had been all over him in his dream.

Ok, that made him look back out the window. Completely ignoring the song Dele chose to let fill the car as he indicated into another lane, sat tapping along to the melody on his steering wheel in a clear sign he wasn’t turning it over any time soon.

“Didn’t pin you as a Taylor Swift guy.” Eric said after a verse and a chorus of the song. Dele simply chuckled, and the sound warmed a part inside Eric that felt way too close to his heart for his sanity’s liking.

“Don’t try and Pigeon hole me Dier, I’m one in a billion mate.” He joked, and Eric couldn’t help his smile at that. _Cocky bastard_.

“One _out of_ a billion more like.”

“You’re too cheeky for a guy that’s a guest in my car.” Dele said, letting his gaze drift to Eric who felt it burning a hole into the side of him. He rolled his head to face the younger man, fixing him with a mocking stern glower but Dele’s smile didn’t change even as he drew his attention back to the road.

“And you’re too rude for a guy who let me in his car.”

Dele looked at back him then, one brow raised accompanied by a smile so easy it made Eric’s breath hitch. Eric didn’t look away. Probably couldn’t if he wanted to, because Dele’s face was soft and comforting even despite their sarcastic quip exchange that felt so far removed to their usual banter.

“I thought we could go to this little Portuguese place I found. The reviews weren’t too bad, considering the area like!” Dele didn’t look at him when he said that, and Eric was thankful because he definitely didn’t have enough time to control the surprise on his expression.

“Portuguese?”

“Yeah, is that all right?” Dele still wasn’t looking at him, his words were quiet and if Eric hadn’t been so tuned into him he probably wouldn’t have heard them.

“Yeah of course. Just surprised.”

“Why because I pay attention when you said you missed that egg yolk pudding thing?” Dele said through a huff of laughter and Eric felt his smile stretch. There was something in the fact that Dele remembered, God Eric didn’t even remember that conversation. Perhaps it had been one of the first times they had together as they begun to grow closer, over bottles of beer and re-matches of Fifa. When they’d spoken about their bullshit stats on the game , Dele’s family and Eric’s time in Portugal.

“ _Abade de priscos”_ He said, and Dele swallowed as he nodded, hands fisting on the steering wheel uneasily. Nervously, dare Eric think?

“That’s the one.”

“You remembered me saying that?” Eric asked, head tilted towards Dele, grin still on his lips as Dele shrugged with his brows knitted together, but his cheeks blushing showed his embarrassment even if he was skilled at feigning relaxation.

“You’re not exactly a lively bloke Eric, you’ve only said about 5 things since I met you and that was one of them.” That was a lie of course, but Eric would let him have it. Because he kind of couldn’t remove the idea of Dele booking them into a Portuguese restaurant when it was his turn to pick the food just because he wanted Eric to experience a part of his life he missed so desperately.

That thought felt uneasy, perhaps as uneasy as the dream itself had.

“Ah ok.” He said through the smile on his face that he thought was going to be a permanent fixture, watching Dele bite at his thumb nail, eyes focused on the road ahead. “But thank you. For making note of statement number 3 of 5.” Once they stopped at another red-light Dele let himself look to Eric and he huffed out laughter through his shy grin.

“Just so you know, for next month. I’m a huge lover of very _very_ expensive lobster.” Dele said, breaking their eye contact and Eric couldn’t help but laugh, biting his lip as he straightened up in his seat, willing away his blush and the butterflies that were whirling up a hurricane in his ribcage.

The drive wasn’t a long one, and soon enough they were pulling up to a secluded little restaurant with white walls and an architecture reminiscent of Portuguese villages that Eric remembered from his youth. There was a little beer garden beside the car-park that overlooked a large man-made pond with lanterns hanging between the canopies overhead. Eric was more than pleased when they were taken to their table and it was beneath an outdoor heater beside the body of water outside. It wasn’t the fanciest restaurant he’d ever been too, but it really was wonderful. Soft Latin music was playing around them as they took their seats, ordering drinks and looking over the menu.

“Seriously, it’s good just try it.” Eric said later in the evening, holding out the crisp golden-brown pastry in front of Dele who grimaced, batting the thing away from him like it was alive. “Christ it’s spinach, you unhealthy mess!” Eric cackled, swallowing the pastry in one bite despite Dele’s noise of disgusted protest.

“Spinach is vile! It’s a myth that people actually like it.” They laughed easily, both settling back in their seats and Eric pushed his finished plate to one side wiping his mouth with the napkin on his lap.

“This was one of the first dishes I tried of Portuguese cuisine.” He said thoughtfully, thinking back to Lisbon and the memories he had there that he treasured like they were made of gold. Perhaps they were.

“You miss it don’t you?” Dele interrupted his thoughts, bringing Eric back to the present, his present in London with Dele Alli whose expression was soft, listening.

“Nah I can just eat this bit right here.” Eric opted for a joke, picking at the last bit of his food just for something to occupy him from the sadness that flooded through him that usually accompanied thoughts of the life he missed terribly.

“Portugal.” Dele stated, sitting forward in his chair and reaching for his wine glass. They shared another prolonged look, one where Eric felt a fear bubbling up inside him that was totally foreign to the mood of the evening. The fear was usually quashed within milliseconds in place of comfort of just being around the man he’d grown so used to. Except the fear remained this time with Dele, mingling low in his gut and for a few moments he struggled to remember how to breathe. The light behind them was casting Dele’s hair in an apt halo, his dark eyes capable of swallowing the rest of the light in the garden.

Eric took a gulp of wine, smacking his lips together and nodding.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why don’t you go back?” Dele asked, and it did seem like a simple solution really.

A logical one.

“Honestly?” Eric asked, Dele nodding, a short curt nod that had the blonde shrugging, finger chasing around the rim of his wine glass. “Because I’m scared I’ll never want to leave.” Eric tended not to be too open to people, hell aside from his immediate family he doubted anyone in the world knew that. But now Dele did, and Dele didn’t laugh, or call him soft. He just looked sad, sad for Eric for losing something that meant a lot to him. He didn’t regret leaving Portugal because it started him on a path that lead him to where he was in that moment and with Dele Alli looking at him with an honest gaze, how could he feel regret?

“Well, just wait until you’re 40 then leave Spurs, and go back and retire there.” Dele broke their gaze, taking a drink from his wine and Eric couldn’t help but pick up on the age Dele had thrown out there.

“Someone seems eager for me to stay in London.” Eric said it like it was a question, smile back in place and Dele seemed to be trying to bite back his own and doing terribly at it. Maybe it was the alcohol that was warming him, maybe it was the fact that the setting felt as familiar to him as if he _were_ back in Portugal. Whatever it was it had his bones glowing with a warmth that felt inherently _Dele Alli_.

“It’s not entirely awful having you on my team. Or you being my friend.” Dele admitted with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Aww Dele!” Eric mocked when the weight of the moment got too much for him. He rose from his chair, taking the seat beside Dele just to attempt to hug him jokingly. Dele giggled of course, head tilting back as he pushed at the Blonde who gave up as they fell into an easy and joyful laugh. Eric relaxed into his new seat, his leg pressed against Dele’s who poured them both more wine as they settled together, elbows brushing. The closeness perhaps sprung from several glasses of alcohol twining with the overall feel of the evening, the swell of the gentle music in the background and the soft glow of artificial light rippling across the water ahead of them. Whatever it came from, Eric just knew he didn’t want to move away and when Dele didn’t attempt to either they settled into another one of their contemplative stares at one another.

“I’ve noticed we’re drinking more wine during these little dates of ours, Tonight definitely calls for an Uber home.” Dele said through a smirk, bringing his own glass to his lips and Eric tracked the movement, echoing it just for something to distract him from the red tint the alcohol was staining his friend’s mouth with.

“Dates?” He repeated with a snort, ignoring the fluttering inside him that sped up with Dele’s phrasing, which was stupid really because it was only a word.

A stupid word.

“You know what I mean, fuckin’ friend meet-ups. Slumber parties whatever you wanna call them.” Dele rushed to say, tutting and rolling his eyes in a way that was reserved to make Eric feel stupid, except it didn’t, it made him smile wider. Dele’s shyness was rearing its rare head again and it was painfully and endlessly endearing.

“Slumber parties? You want me to stay the night Dell boy?” Eric rarely found himself in a position where he had the power to tease Dele and he certainly didn’t miss the flare of something in Dele’s eyes and the lock of his jaw that seemed far too removed from anger to be a bad thing.

“And have your lump of a body taking up my bed, no thank you.” He adopted the same joking edge to his words as Eric did, but suddenly the blonde was flooded with visions of him and Dele sharing a bed. Exchanging jokes as they so often did but from within crumpled bed sheets, Netflix playing mindlessly in the background of their easy morning.

“How dare you. My body is a temple!” Eric let his hand smooth down the front of his chest and didn’t miss the way Dele’s dark eyes tracked the movement, followed by a swallow and another reach for his wine glass. They lapsed into silence again, just letting the evening pass by and the words they’d spoken settle over them. It was all too normal, too comfortable and Eric didn’t want it to end. His thigh was radiating heat from where it was pressed against Dele’s and he thought he’d imagined it when Dele’s fingers scratched just above the slit in his jeans by his knee to gather his attention.

“If you ever wanted to go back to Portugal I wouldn’t be angry.” Dele said softly, and Eric was surprised he heard it over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears as the need to let his fingers twine with Dele’s reached breaking point.

Before he could even contemplate how Dele’s fingers would feel pressed to his own, the younger man had removed his touch, hand back to his lap and just like that the moment was gone, swept up in the breeze that settled over the evening reminding him he was in London.

“I know.” He replied, because he wanted to say thank you, he wanted to bring Dele into a hug holding him close in an attempt to prove that Portugal wouldn’t be on the cards if Dele just said the words.

“I just wouldn’t be happy.” And perhaps that was enough of an incentive to never leave as Eric needed.

~*~

“Was it about a girl you knew in Portugal?” Dele asked as they filed onto the team bus from their last away game of the season. Eric looked to his friend, brow risen before he remembered what the conversation was eluding to. He’d been so wrapped up in their dynamic since the night at the restaurant that he almost forgot entirely that Dele was Sherlock Holmes reborn when it came to interrogating Eric about his wet fucking dream.

Eric rolled his eyes as he boarded the bus, taking a seat near the back, Dele hot on his heels and dropping himself in the seat beside him, fishing his headphones out from his pocket as they got comfortable. He passed Eric the left earbud instinctively and Eric accepted it as he usually did.

Despite having his own headphones in his jacket pocket.

“If you’re still wrapped up in my sex dream, then I hate to say this Dele but you need to get a life.” Eric chided, Dele huffing out a laugh as he thumbed through his playlist. It was entitled Dele and Eric’s road mix and that in itself was several kinds of adorable despite the conversation they were having being several shades of irritating.

“Come on, humour me.” Dele said as he settled on a John Mayer song, the volume on low as he let his head lull towards his blonde friend.

“No.” Eric said simply, looking out the window and waiting for the bus to start. He was focusing on the mellow guitar playing in the background and trying not to replicate the press of their thighs from that night in the restaurant.

“Do I know her?” Dele asked stubbornly.

“Fuck off.”

“So, it’s about a guy then?” Dele asked, and Eric turned back to face him with a bewildered gaze because what the fuck? Dele’s brows were risen into his hairline, and Eric really wished he hadn’t opened his fucking mouth about his dream in the first place because seriously what was the point? He was toeing the line of the truth far too clumsily and he could feel the flames burning around him. God, one more awkward misplaced line and Dele would know and their whole friendship would change, and the flames would engulf him turning him to ashes

“What makes you think that?” He asked lamely.

“One, because you haven’t told me it’s a girl. Like surely you wouldn’t think twice about saying if it’s a bird because the lads are always gassing about girls. And two, because you didn’t just say no.” Dele had a way of talking like he knew he was right and it was so incredibly infuriating especially the times when he was. Eric wondered how Dele would react if he did find out, would he be disgusted? Would he laugh? Which would Eric find worse?

He truthfully didn’t know.

“Would you care if it was about a bloke?” Eric wanted to retract the question as soon as he asked it, because his voice was too weak, gave too much away.

“No.” Dele said quickly and honestly, and Eric couldn’t help but smile despite wanting to hit him for bringing up the dream conversation yet again.

But that was good to know he supposed.

~*~

“I know who it’s about!” Dele said one evening over the head-set as they settled down for a private Fifa session. Dele insisted on playing World Cup mode considering they were heading to Russia just two days later. Both swore off playing as England, a superstition neither wanted to risk jinxing. Not when everything was about to feel so real. Eric rolled his eyes as he leaned back on his computer chair, the seat groaning under his weight as he span as much as he could without the wires tangling around him and disturbing the dog at his feet. Eric just sighed, going through the motions of clicking through his chosen team and waiting for Dele to do the same and to just finish whatever epiphany he was hellbent on having. “It was Tripps, wasn’t it?”

That made Eric burst into laughter, startling Cisco anyway. Eric just shook his head in disbelief as though Dele was sat right next to him.

“No. It wasn’t.” He said simply, because entertaining that idea despite being fucking hilarious, was also too ridiculous to comprehend. Sure, he liked Kieran, but there was a different between liking someone and dreaming about fucking them.

That thought felt like a physical slap across Eric’s face and he was frozen momentarily, watching Dele score passed his keeper with his heart pounding at that concept.

That wasn’t an admission. Not at all.

He never had been good at articulating his thoughts.

“Yeah, his hairline is well dead, those tattoos though.” Dele said, breaking Eric from his reverie. “Ok not Tripps, Hugo? Have you got a captain kink, Eric?”

“A what?” Dier asked through a bark of laughter.

“Don’t play coy with me, I bet you have a list of kinks the size of Wembley’s pitch! It’s always the quiet ones.” Dele said, and Eric hated how his interest piqued at the hint of teasing to those words.

“It would be so nice if _you_ were a quiet one just once.” Eric said, scoring from a free-kick and chuckling at Dele’s loud groan of annoyance.

“Trust me, I don’t need to be quiet to have a mile-long list of kinks.” Dele said, and Eric must have imagined the way his mouth dried at that.

“I probably didn’t need to know that.” Except every part of his body seemed to be vibrating with the revelation of it.

“Yeah I don’t want to scare you. You’ve probably only just mastered missionary with the lights on!”

“People have missionary with the lights on?” Eric asked aghast, tone suggesting his mocking as the pair couldn’t help but laugh, Dele’s breaths crackling the line between them.

“I’m gonna find out you know, even if it kills me.” The younger man said quietly, and Eric could practically see the playful smile tugging at his lips as they continued to play the game that ticked minutes down to seconds.

“I think you’re investing far too much interest in this, Alli.”

“You’re an interesting bloke, Dier. Can you really blame me?” He said, and Eric really was beginning to hate the fluttering butterflies that seemed to be building a home in his stomach.

~*~

The World Cup campaign was going far better than anyone could have expected and judging by the texts off his Mum and the mentions in his Instagram feed, England agreed.

They had just finished training, ready for the upcoming game against Columbia and Eric took himself straight to his hotel room, not wanting to loiter too much because that’s usually when the anxiety of it all would set in. It tended to creep up on him, when he was sat with the other lads, one of them making a comment about how nervous they were and before they’d know it the whole team was thrumming with it.

So, Eric did what he usually would, he removed himself from the situation, heading for the lift and not being surprised at the footsteps behind him belonging Dele Alli who filed into the elevator behind him.

“What’s your room number again?” Eric asked, turning his key card over in his hands and smirking as Dele rolled his eyes.

“You make me wish I had roomed with Raz.” Dele laughed, shoving his hands in his tracksuit pockets. Eric’s eyes were drawn to the England badge on his chest and he felt himself swallow deeply. Dele’s eyes followed his gaze and he let a deft finger stroke over the second lion.

“Too real now, ennit?” He said as the lift bell rang, and they walked in step out into the well-lit corridor and towards their room.

“Yeah feels weird. Different from all the other times we’ve put an England shirt on.” Eric said as they entered their room. It smelt like Dele, the cologne that was becoming an increasingly permanent fixture of Eric’s life. It was the smell that lingered on his clothes after a practice, the smell that enveloped him when he’d go to Dele’s house. The smell that he’d find on Cisco and Clay after Dele would cuddle them during one of his visits to Eric’s place. It was everywhere, and it only felt right that it followed him to Russia too.

“Good though. Everyone’s buzzin’ back home as well. So, we’re doing something right.” Dele said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and eyes tracking Eric who nodded.

“Until we fuck up and we’re just another name on the long list of England players to piss the entire country off.” He pulled his shirt over his head in frustration, needing a shower and an early night.

“Ever the optimist Eric.”

“I’m a realist Dell.” He levelled his gaze on Dele and Dele bit his lips together. Then there was that eye roll of his and Eric wanted to turn away from him all together.

God it really did make Eric feel fucking stupid at times.

“Nah you’re bare negative. You’re gonna give me a complex.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just. I’m just feelin’ a lot right now.” He admitted and noticed the shift in the air as Dele straightened in his position, tuning in to caring Dele, leaving the joker behind for a moment.

“I know.” He said simply.

“I feel like everyone else is better at dealing with this kind of shit than I am?” Eric asked it like it was a question and let his eyes fall down to the shirt he was rolling up into a ball in his hands. God was he always so fidgety when he was nervous? When something was on his mind?

“You deal with things just fine, Eric.”

“Nah I don’t. You know what I’m like, I don’t deal well with massive things. With risks.” Eric said, holding his shirt in his hand and looking down at the badge that felt more of a responsibility than he’d ever had to feel before.

“Why is that?” Dele asked, rising from his position on the bed and closing the space between them. Eric could practically feel Dele’s breath on his face, his eyes watching as Dele’s finger reached out to trace the space between his own, dancing along the edges of the lions on their crest.

“Because if I’m safe, I’ll never get hurt.” Eric admitted and wow, that really had come from somewhere deep inside of himself that even he barely recognised. It felt like weakness to say something so raw out in the open and to none other than Dele Alli. Eric bit his lips together, counting down the seconds in his head that Dele seemed contemplative for. He looked lost in thought or maybe he was just letting Eric’s words settle over them like an untouched sheet of frost on a cold morning. Eric was waiting for the initial footprint in the snow, the disturbance of the peace and it came in the form of Dele shifting, eyes dancing over Eric’s face and a hand rising to fall tentatively on his shoulder.  Eric shuddered at the feeling, not expecting to have to mentally prepare for such an alien touch. Because it was alien. Sure, Dell had touched him so simply many times, in that exact spot often enough but like this it felt so different, the closeness, what the hand meant in response to Eric’s admission.

It was more than just a gesture of pity, it was meaningful. It felt like a safety net, like someone reaching out into the darkness and pulling him back from danger. It was comfort and home all at once and the fact it was coming from Dele was as confusing as why he even said it in the first place.

“I don’t think you’ll get hurt.” Dele said gently.

“I always do. I’m probably going to get hurt tomorrow if we don’t do this. If we don’t make it.” Eric meant the game, he meant England. He meant the millions of people waiting with baited breath for the three lions to fuck up. 52 years of hurt. He didn’t want to be someone to have a hand in that shit luck, but here he was in some hotel room in Russia with his best friend staring at him like he was fragile.

He felt it, he felt like he was made of glass and that Dele’s hand touching him was so capable of cracking him, shattering him if he wished to. It all felt kind of like it was in Dele’s hands to cause chaos and perhaps Eric wasn’t as safe as he assumed he was. When the silence that follow Eric’s words felt like it was going to suffocate him Dele took a deep breath, eyes staring imploringly into Eric’s and who was he to deny himself of Dele’s gaze?

“ _But what if I fail at my purpose here_?” Dele’s words were so quiet, Eric had to strain to hear them. His whisper was caught up in the sounds of the room, the humming of the air vents, the dripping of the tap in the bathroom and yet Eric was rooted to them, watching as they formed on the younger man’s lips in front of him. Dele’s eyes shut loosely then, eyelashes casting shadows against his cheekbones, fingers fluttering over the juncture of skin between Eric’s shoulder and neck.

“ _It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one’s eyes and laugh at a fall_.” He continued, and Eric felt like he was standing on the edge of something, Dele’s words anchoring him and keeping him grounded. Safe. “ _And baffled get up and begin again_.” When he finished the quote, he looked back up at Eric and all the blonde could do was stare, the words feeling like fire as they nestled deep inside his heart and spread through his veins instead of blood.

The air felt tighter, the way it had done that night in the Portuguese restaurant when wine was staining their lips and clouding their judgements. But they were sober in a Russian hotel room, they were alert and wired. Dele shrugged, biting his bottom lip like he wanted to retract the words and Eric would have mourned them instantly if he had, would have desperately scrambled at the memory of Dele’s whispers if he were to take them from him.

“Is that a Taylor Swift song?” Eric asked in a whisper, the joke breaking Dele from his reverie as he let out a head tilting laugh, fingers still tracking lines across Eric’s shoulder.

“Robert Browning, actually. Poetry.” He shrugged, and Eric often forgot how clever Dele was, mainly because it was a dangerous thought to have, to ponder all the wonderful traits of the man in front of him.

It was too dangerous, and Eric was just too fucking _safe_.

“You read poetry, Dell boy?” Dier asked with a soft smirk, fingers fisting the shirt in his grasp at his side as he contemplated just reaching out and touching the skin bared to him on Dele’s wrist that hovered over his pounding heart.

“Remember, I’m one in a billion.” Dele joked, throwing back to the conversation they had had in his car a few weeks back, that may as well have been a lifetime ago.

“I see that now.” Eric said and meant it.

~*~

Ecstasy was an emotion that Eric could only pair with football. He had felt it only in those important wins, the ones where the air felt sharp and harsh in his throat as the final whistle went and the fans around him erupted and applauded.

But this? This was historical. This felt bigger than anything he’d ever felt, and the ecstasy would eventually fade, but not that night. That night he’d hold onto forever, would feel the echoes of ecstasy and hold it close because they’d done it.

They’d defied the odds placed over them and they’d won the penalty shootout against Columbia. He’d scored the winner. He made a difference. It had happened in a blur, he couldn’t remember approaching the penalty spot, he couldn’t remember preparing himself to take the kick. All he could remember was the rush of utter relief that twined with ecstasy as it rose through his throat and out into the world as a cry of pure emotion as he turned and ran towards his boys who were in turn running towards him.

The atmosphere in the hotel was palpable, electric and alive and his teammates felt the same as he did.

He let his eyes cross the room as he stood to the side, watching as Rashford and Lingard had some kind of dance-off that Raz and Danny were filming, probably on Snapchat that Eric still didn’t really understand as an app. Pickford was in his eyeline then, arms over Vardy and Maguire’s shoulders as they bounced up and down together.

And that’s when he saw him. He saw Dele across the room, standing between Walker and Stones but his eyes were on Eric. He was smiling, delicate and thoughtful and Eric didn’t even deny himself a smile back. He didn’t know if it was the heat of the room, the excitement of the night but whatever it was it was colouring Dele’s cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. Soft and subtle in all the ways Dele wasn’t as a person. He was loud and overwhelming. He was a fall without a parachute, he was a car crash at 200 miles per hour. He was a lightning strike in a thunder storm. But his look was feather-light and deliberate. It reminded him of the night at the Portuguese restaurant where the wine was sweet, the music was quiet, and the air was warm and smelt of Dele’s cologne. Of that night just a few nights ago, when Dele’s fingers had fluttered over his skin and made him feel more alive than scoring the winning penalty had.

Dele’s softness was so intrinsically Dele Alli in all the way’s it shouldn’t have been, and that’s all Eric needed, nothing more nothing less.

Eric just stared, face softening and brows rising slightly as he finally placed the whirling in his stomach as longing. Deep and real and saturating his very bones, tuning his desire into Dele’s frequency until his very life was a song to the tune of his best friend. It had always been Dele, the magnetic pull at the start of their friendship, the deep co-dependence they fell into with ease, the dream.

It was Dele Alli and perhaps Eric had loved him longer than he realised, and the dream was the wake-up call he needed.

Eric’s breath felt like it had been punched out of him as he watched Dele looking back at him. The younger man swallowed, face no longer a bright smile and Eric felt the room was a little dimmer for it.

Eric turned away, moving through the throng of people and out the heavy doors, the music from the room muffling the further he walked away. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think straight. He didn’t need this revelation now, the denial tasting thick like bile in his throat as he thought back to all the times he’d wanted to admit to himself that he felt something for Dele but didn’t because he was too safe, and Dele was a risk.

He heard the door open behind him and he knew who it was, but he needed time, he couldn’t think about Dele when his mind needed to stay fixed on England, on the quarter-final ahead.

“It was me.”  Dele said as he turned Eric to face him, eyes wide and mouth upturned.

“No, you’ll find it was me who scored the winning penalty.” Eric tried to joke, realising as he tried to feign ignorance that he was shaking, his heart thundering and his breath suddenly restless.

“Not that. The dream, it was me wasn’t it?” Dele’s voice was stern, assured and Eric wished he could laugh in his face and push him away and say something witty in response. But all he could do was let out a faltering sigh that had Dele’s mouth opening slowly.

He knew.

“Don’t do this tonight Dell, please.” It felt too real, too scary, unlike any feeling Eric had ever felt.

“It was, wasn’t it? It was about me. About us.” Dele gestured between them and took another step closer, but Eric couldn’t stay. He couldn’t, because Dele was a magnet and a beacon, and all the other stupid shit Eric had noticed at the start when he’d tried to ignore the way his insides swirled whenever he saw the new guy because he was incredibly charismatic and good-looking and all the things that made Eric’s head spin and his heart pound.

He walked away, hands in fists at his sides as he wondered how it would all change now. How their friendship would change, how their chemistry on the pitch would change. He’d fucked everything up because he wasn’t careful enough.

“Please say it was me.” Dele shouted down the hallway. The words bounced from the walls like ripples on a disturbed lake and all Eric could do was focus on his breathing. He was sure his lungs were working, he was sure he was converting oxygen like usual. It just felt like there was something pulling at his insides as he paused, turning back to face Dele with a sceptical expression on his face and an uneasy fluttering in his chest as Dele approached him. “I want it to be me you’re dreaming about.”

“What?” His voice was shot to shit, trembling in all the wrong places as Dele advanced on him, only stopping until they were toe-to-toe and Eric didn’t have the strength to walk away again.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never noticed.” Dele began. “You must have known when I kept being cringey trying for your approval despite you obviously hating me at the start.” Dele laughed, embarrassment flushing his cheeks as he looked to the floor. Vulnerability was an interesting look on Dele Alli a far cry from his familiar aura of confidence and self-assurance and yet there he was, quiet and hesitant.

Eric found that he was getting used to that look on Dele, like the younger man was allowing him to see that part of him time and time again.

“I’ve never hated you.” Eric admitted, as easy as any words had ever come to him “I never could.” He let his eyes roam over Dele’s expression, hyper-aware of any changes. The ones he noticed was the softening of Dele’s brow, the twitch of his lips and the colour sitting high on his cheeks. “It was you. Has been since we met I think.”

“Reckon I’m the most envied man in England right now.” Dele said, smiling as Eric frowned in questioning. “I bet the entire country want to kiss you after tonight, but it’s gonna be me that does it.” Dele finished, looking up at his friend with a smirk tugging at his mouth. Eric felt the smile overcome him before he could stop himself, feeling 16 all over again as his heart hammered and his palms slicked with a nervousness he hadn’t felt since his first kiss.

“Is it now? Cos I’m pretty sure that fit bird from Love Island counts as part of the entire country.” He joked, the pair sharing a laugh as Dele threw a hand to hit Eric who caught it mid-air, lacing their fingers together and taking mental notes of how it felt in his grasp. Dele’s hands were light and soft, delicate and soothing and exactly as Eric had imagined they’d feel.

“You comin’ in your pants over her now?” Dele asked, snaking his arms around Eric’s neck who cackled, wrapping his own around Dell, palms resting on the slight curve where the bottom of his back met the round of his peachy arse. God they’d been this close before, they had been pressed against one another before but not like this. Celebrations weren’t the same, when blood was rushing through veins like liquid heat and the sound of the fans were a cacophony of chaotic cheers. Here, with Dele pressed against him it felt serene and calm, like the flow of passing a ball around with no upcoming game, with no pressure.

Just passing the ball because you wanted to not because you’re obligated to.

“I might have once or twice.” Eric joked.

“I’ll just be on my way then.” Dele said moving away just to be pulled back instantly by a still laughing Eric.

God, he’d never felt so deliriously happy before.

“On second thoughts, I can settle for you.” He teased, forehead pressing against Dele’s who chuckled, low and quiet, fingers teasing at the nape of Eric’s neck.

“You say the most romantic things.”

“Well this isn’t one of those rom-coms you love so much, you know.” It was so easy, the joking that he’d always pinned down as playful but was actually flirting. God, it was so surreal it was intoxicating, sending his head spinning and his confidence to hold Dele tighter sky-rocketing.

“I think you’ll find it is actually. Best friends find love after long gruelling journey of self-discovery. That’s about as cliché as it gets. Plus, we’re about to have a big climatic kiss after an important football game victory.”

“Love?” Eric asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, otherwise it’s just some awkward platonic story and no one likes ambiguity.” Dele said with an eyeroll.

“I agree.” Eric said, and it was the biggest admission he’d made to Dele, and he didn’t even have to say the words, Dele could feel it. He could feel it in the way they were stood, the way Eric held him close like he was determined to never let go.

“So, what about that essential kiss for the finale?” Dele asked, canting his head up so that their noses touched feather-light and enticing a hitch from Eric’s breath at the contact.

“Well maybe I could start the essential kiss if you shut up for 5 fuckin’ seconds-”

Their lips met then, silencing their laughs and Eric felt everything fall into place all at once. The soft deftness of Dele’s mouth moving against his own, tongues sliding beside one another, like a well-executed routine that they’d never practiced. They just knew. It all felt exactly as it was supposed to feel when two people would kiss, the way Disney movies made it seem, or romance books with poetic flowery language had described and Eric had read the same happy ending a million times with an air of disbelief. But it was true, the world _was_ meant to feel as though it had stopped, that time had frozen still and the only two souls in the world were experiencing the kiss.

It did feel that way.

Eric had been cynical about love, perhaps that’s why he’d spent so long denying himself love in the form of silencing his longing for Dele but with the word resonating in his mind and Dele’s hands fisting his shirt, bringing him impossibly closer, Eric thought that love was the best feeling he’d ever felt despite the fear that accompanied it.

Eric had always been a safe person after all.

Except when he wasn’t, and he could get used to that as far as Dele Alli was concerned at least.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Comment or leave kudos to let me know or come to my tumblr to talk deledier with me
> 
> doncasterlyrock.tumblr.com


End file.
